


Semi-Automatic

by cerozer0



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Car Chases, Light Angst, Light Smut, Multi, Snogging, Vignette, fic ideas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23263270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerozer0/pseuds/cerozer0
Summary: A collection of prompts, vignettes, and drabbles I wrote and posted to the Disco Elysium Discord.
Relationships: Harry Du Bois/Dora Ingerlund, Harry Du Bois/Jean Vicquemare, Harry Du Bois/Kim Kitsuragi
Comments: 6
Kudos: 42





	1. Starless (Jean/Harry/Kim)

December in Jamrock brought chilly nights so clear that Jean is sure he can see the stars through all of the light pollutions. He leans in the shadows of the sawmill’s balcony wall, smoking one Astra after another as he watches the distant traffic. His cloak snaps and shakes in the cold wind, a symphony of polyester. Somewhere, deeper within the precinct, officers prepare to head out into the streets, seeking booze and beds and bodies. Jean envies them. All he has to look forward to, really, is the rest of his cigarettes and his cat, Mittens.

_”A cat? Really, Vic?”_ Harry had once teased, tugging at Jean’s ear, _”well, I guess if either of us were going to turn into a lonely old cat lady, it’d be you.”_

Jean waves away the illusion of Harry’s bright smile with his free hand and smokes his cigarette down to the filter, holding the warm smoke in his lungs for as long as he can manage. Nothing can fill the void there, the endless chill of loneliness. It floats like a small, fathomless space, dark and curling and infecting, a cancer of sadness. How fucking corny. How fucking unfair. Jean presses his back harder into the wall to hide away from another gust of ice wind and scowls up at the navy sky.

_”I don’t know what to do, Vic,”_ Harry had once moaned, standing next to him, smoking with him. It had been a while since they entertained such frivolous breaktime activities, ” _I just can’t… I can’t live without her. I’m really just waiting for one of these cases to… To…”_

_”Finish that thought, shitkid,”_ Jean had interrupted, _”and I’ll kill you myself.”_ He had watched Harry out of the corner of his eye smirk, small and sad. His heart had clenched. It had been so fucking unfair.

Jean grumbles a string of curses and digs into his back pocket for another cigarette. At the same time, the door of the sawmill slides open, and two sets of footsteps wander up to the balcony’s edge. Jean peeks around the corner and, much to his despair find the backs of Harry Du Bois and Kim Kitsuragi as they stare off into Jamrock together. They haven’t noticed him (yet), with their backs to the door and the jutted wall that houses the stairwell. Jean ducks back behind his corner and curses again, quiet as can be in the prevailing winds.

“Ya know, Kim,” Harry drawls, holding up a flickering lighter, “you’re still as fucking cool as the first time we did this.” Kim leans in to light his cigarette, the hint of a smile clear on his profile. 

“I would hope so, detective,” Kim hums, leaning hard against the railing. Jean’s eyes follow the cocked, relaxed angles of his legs, the lack of tension on his shoulders. Harry, too, is as laid back as Jean had ever seen him. Again, his heart clenches.

“I don’t get it! I don’t get how you can get so much *cool* into such a tiny package.” Harry holds his hand up over Kim’s head and laughs. Kim pushes his shoulder gently, his cigarette glowing bright as he inhales. Smoke rises from them like wisps of dreams. Jean’s fingers itch for attention. He smokes his own cigarette instead and presses his cheek against the cold wall to continue watching in silence. Kim and Harry fall quiet, enraptured by the scenery, perhaps, and then Kim reaches up and drags Harry down. Jean drops his cigarette. His face burns harder than the ember that dies at the end of his fallen Astra. Kim kisses Harry like he’s some delicate thing, smoke escaping from both of their mouths. When they pull away, Harry clicks his tongue.

“Fraternizing, lieutenant? I thought you were too much of a professional for such frivolous actions.” He says, teasing and sweet, and Jean feels sick. The darkness in his lungs, his heart, his head, grows to infect his blood. How fucking unfair. Kim chuckles and Jean can’t help but watch his ears burn pink.

“It’s fine once and a while, isn’t it?” He says, no, *purrs*, and Jean glances away. He recedes into the shadow of the wall, holding his cloak tight to his body as he tries to keep from caring. And when he can’t, he turns his eyes back to the sky and realizes that no, there are no stars. There never were stars. Not for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A prompt from Darelz on Discord! They wanted the Jean/Harry/Kim triad where one was helplessly pining after the others. Short and unsweet.


	2. Possessions and You (Harry/Kim)

When a drug bust goes bad, the 41st is usually ready for a gunfight. Luckily for Kim, the warehouse he and Harry had been tasked to investigate were more of the “run and hide” type of criminal, so the second they turned up whoever was left within the building immediately bolted down the street. Of course, a car chase ensued. Of course, Kim was happy to participate.

Two motor carriages growled around a tight oceanview bend with a glowing Coupris Kineema right on their tails. Kim licked his lips and curled his fingers against the wheel, reveling in the grind of leather on leather as salty wind and wailing sirens and Speedfreaks FM filled the air. Harry clung to the cabin of the carriage desperately. His eyes were filled with an uncharacteristic apprehension at the whole situation, and Kim couldn’t help the grin that pulled across his lips.

“Don’t you trust me, detective?” He called, pulling hard at the wheel as they rounded another bend.

Harry choked out a laugh and cried, “with my life, lieutenant! Doesn’t mean you can’t scare the shit outta me–“ he cut himself off with a yelp as the Kineema tilted around the next bend. The carriages ahead of them drove on and on, throwing smoke and sand and pebbles up. Kim pressed down on the accelerator and switched gears, gaining a bit of speed as the road straightened out. Craggy cliff sides soared above Kim to his left, and to his right, the road dropped off into the sea past a sturdy steel guard. One wrong move could throw both of them over the edge. 

The drivers up ahead didn’t seem to have much care for that fact. They took turns and curbs hard and happily welcomed scratches and dents. Kim wouldn’t make the same mistakes. He had other ideas. “Detective!” He called over the cacophony of machines and music, “can you shoot out their wheels?”

_“What?”_ Harry balked.

“You’ve got a good eye! Take out their fucking tires!” Kim felt crazed, adrenaline-pumping hard. He jerked the wheel hard and Harry’s reply was lost to another sputtering yell. Kim could only whoop in glee as Harry rolled down the window and shoved his upper body through. The road straightened out again, lit by rolling red and blues, and the sea roared in amazement as Harry lined up his first shot and fired.

The closer carriage’s wheel burst into golden sparks. Kim could just barely hear Harry’s curse-laced cheering over all the noise and his own buzzing blood. They dodged around the skidding Coupris and raced on. Harry straightened his back and readied his next shot. 

Something flashed in the moonlight out the motor carriage’s passenger window. Kim blinked, eyes widening, as he realized it was the muzzle of a gun, aimed right for Harry. Buzzing noise filled every space in his head and chest. The Kineema purred below him, trusted and kind, and Harry seemed unaware of the danger just in front of him. That wouldn’t do. Not at all. 

In a split-second decision, Kim pumped the gas and let go of the steering wheel to grab the back of Harry’s shirt and haul him back into the cabin. The gun fired, the Kineema veered and ground against the cliff walls, spitting sparks. The driver's side door was ripped apart and stones rained down upon Kim. Something in the engine burst and screamed. Another gunshot rang out beyond them, and the motor carriage ahead vanished behind another bend. Kim wrestled control back over the wheel and braked hard, gasping for air.

“Kim, holy fucking hell!” Harry’s head eclipsed Kim’s sight of his own reflection in the ruined glass of the Kineema’s windshield, “what the hell?”

“You were about to get shot, detective,” Kim wheezed as his age caught up to him, turning adrenaline-made tremors into full-body shakes, “I wasn’t going to let you get shot.”

“But your carriage, Kim,” Harry’s eyes were wide and oily, swirling with guilt, “a fresh coat of paint won’t fix *that*.” He nodded towards the missing door, the spiderwebbed windshield, the smoking, spitting engine. 

Kim laughed hoarsely and said, “but you’re alive, detective, and I think that may be worth more than a Kineema.” Somewhere behind them, more RCM vehicles sang their arrival. Stark shadows cast themselves across the cabin as a trio of Coupris 40s raced by. Harry looked as though he might just jump off the seacliff despite all of Kim’s efforts, so he reached out and pulled hard on Harry’s ear and said, “should we have a funeral for this one too?”

“Kim…” Harry scowled.

“I’ll buy the flower arrangements.”

“Kim.”

“We can throw it into the bay with your old one.”

“Get out of the fucking carriage, Kitsuragi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank Art Cop Sunny from the Discord for this one lolol. They wanted to see a scene that shows the strength of Kim and Harry's friendship! So I wrote a car chase? LOL


	3. Cosmic Revacholian (Harry/Bad Times)

Harry held up his glass and cheered as Mack sang his heart out on the karaoke bar’s rustic stage. The amber-light of La Grosse Dame Chante was as warm and welcoming as the chilled cider that still swirled at the bottom of his glass. He was perched at one of the three booths the C-Wing officers had taken over, leaning against a lackadaisical Jean as he swayed and hummed and stomped his foot along with the tinny radio guitar. Kim sat across from him, nursing a can of beer and chatting with a pink-faced Judit. Beyond them, Chester lurched from side to side, both arms outstretched to wail along mournfully with his hulking partner.

“He sucks,” Jean mumbled, staring into his empty glass, “sucks real bad. I should… I should go up there and show him karaoke.”

“Yeah Jean, yeah. Let’s do a fuckin’ duet,” Harry said with a roaring laugh. Kim smiled fondly at the two of them, and Harry could see the smoke of memory cloud his eyes like a summer storm.

“Remember in Martinaise, detective?” Kim hummed, “when you sang karaoke at the Whirling-in-Rags? You were great.”

“He sucked!” Jean moaned, pressing his head against the wall.

“Noo, he was great,” Kim practically whined, “he dedicated it to *me*. It was great.” Harry noted the pinkish tint on his cheeks and easily deduced that he was probably a little drunk.

“That was what, five years ago?” Harry grinned and threw back the rest of his drink and fought to stamp down the immediate urge to seek out another, “I still got it, Vic, let’s go sing right now.” He tugged hard at Jean’s arm, trying to wrestle him out of the booth. Mack’s final verse ended with a throaty yell and a shout from the bar as he threw down his glass in triumph. Chester, in solidarity, shattered his own empty cup with a barking laugh.

“Hey!” Jean yelled, standing up, “don’t go breaking shit! You do realize *I’m* the one who’s gonna have to pay for that, right, Torson?” He pulled himself free from Harry’s grip and stormed towards the duo, cursing and spitting all the way. Judit laughed, for once not troubled to try and pull the reins on Jean’s rage, and sipped at her whiskey.

“Well, that’s bust,” Harry sighed, “wanna sing with me, Kim?” Kim’s ear brightened like a flare gun. He opened his mouth to say something, but a hand on Harry’s shoulder drew both of their attention back to see the frazzled bartender standing behind him. 

“You’re Du Bois?” He asked. His voice was reminiscent of clattering coins or cracking ice. Harry nodded once, and the bartender jutted a thumb towards the landline behind the bar, “you got a call.”

“Oh, from who?” 

“Some lady. I don’t fucking know,” the bartender beckoned to the bar again and Harry sighed, bowed once to his friends in the booth, and strode over to the unhooked phone. Something dark and frightened crawled down his spine as he witnessed the receiver laying dead still on the cracked bar. A faint buzz emanated from somewhere nearby. A voice in his head, much fainter now than it used to be, murmured a familiar warning: *Turn back. You will never be able to unhear this. You will never be able to forget again.*

Harry’s fingers itched for a cigarette or another drink. He stamped down the urge again like a petulant child and scooped up the phone, pressing the receiver to his ear. Static crackled and a heaving voice sighed over miles and miles of airwaves. “Hello?” He said.

“Harry?” She said, “Harry, is that you?” Her voice lilted like a song unsung, soft and cold. Images of glowing lungs and suitcases burned behind Harry’s eyelids. He breathed in deeply and found his throat was constricted– he was dying and this was hell.

“Yes,” he managed to wheeze, “is– Dora, is that–“

“Yes,” she hisses, low and freezing, a secret gust of winter wind, “it’s me, Harry. I– I didn’t want to call you, I– fuck, fuck me.” Somewhere beyond Harry’s hell, his name was called. Jean was approaching fast, his rage now turned on Harry, but his burning expression subsided when he met his eyes. Harry, in the meantime, could only open and close his lips and wonder what exactly his own face must look like now that he was dying.

“What?” He mumbled, lifeless, “what do you want?”

“God, Harry– I need help. I need you to help me with something.” The world narrowed. Harry could only hear her shaking voice and see his shadow twisting on the pocked barroom floor. Someone touched his shoulder. He couldn’t see them. “I’m in trouble and I need help, so I called your station but they said you were here so I called here and I need *help*.” She sobbed. Harry’s body tensed.

“Why– how can I…” Harry stopped himself, but the damage was done. 

Dora’s voice came quick and hopeful, granting Harry a lungful of air as he gasped in surprise, “you’ll help me?” She asked quickly, “will you, Harry? I know it’s– I didn’t want to do this either but you are literally my last hope so… So!” Something rumbled over the line. Dora gasped, scared, maybe, and then she was back, quiet as a mouse: “I have to call you back. Are you still at–“

“Yes.” Harry swallowed hard.

“I’ll be in touch. Thank you, Harry,” her voice turned sweet as honey, soothing and poisoning him, “thank you.” And then she was gone, swept away by the static waves. The phone slipped from his hand, clattering against the bar, and Harry was sure he would follow after, but hands on his chest and shoulders kept him upright. Kim’s face broke through his tunnel vision, curled into a look Harry never wanted to see on him again: concern.

“Harry, are you alright?” He glanced at the phone, then Harry’s trembling fingers, “what happened?” The karaoke bar came back into focus like a gunshot. Mack and Chester were beside him, confused, and Judit had her hands on Harry’s chest, eyes wide with worry. Jean stared at him from over her shoulder, coiled like a threatened snake. Kim carried most of Harry’s weight and was more than happy to do it. Harry couldn’t fight off the forlorn smile that cut across his face, carved by words lost to kilometers.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Jean said, ever perceptive. Kim turned to look at him, eyebrow raised, and Harry could only push himself back against the bar and nod. “What did she want?”

“‘*She*’?” Kim’s expression darkened. 

“Help, apparently,” Harry whispered, and his head dropped as, finally, his will gave out, and with feverish shame, he begged, “I need another drink. Please, please– another drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> X9 on discord had an idea for a Long Form fic that I will never able to write (but maybe, hopefully, they will!). Basically, Dora gets in contact with Harry because she's in trouble, and she sends her daughter to Revachol so he can protect hr. Very TLOU. Very fun. There will be a few of these.
> 
> Title inspired by Anais Mitchell's "Cosmic American", which is very DE in my head.


	4. Aerodrome Miracle (Harry/Bad Times Still)

“Yes, I’m at the fucking aerodrome, Dora,” Harry hissed into the payphone. Passerbyers wandered to and from the great glass doors that separated Harry from the great aerostatics that promised to carry people away from the hell that was Revachol. He hated this place, hated the vast, modern design of the building and the cold faces of the people seeking release. He hated Her more, silent on the other end of the phone. Every nerve end in his body was alight, burning him like one million tiny stars. The voices, ever-present and watchful, ever caring, were silent. No one spoke. To be alone with the quiet and Her was more frightening than anything he had ever faced before. Harry could hear Her breathe heavily through the static as if it were some great effort to even remain on the line with him ( _ and it is, Harry, that’s why She left). _

“Please just– just stay there, okay? You’ll see what I sent soon,” Dora whispered, “I’m so sorry, Harry, I– I’m so scared. So so scared. I need you to protect–“ Static swallowed Her voice, buzzing and lifeless. Harry’s stomach swooped and he strained his ears to listen. She was still talking, he could sense that, Her melodic and frightened rambling played on like white noise behind the static. He slammed his hand against the payphone, earning a shocked gasp from Dora.

“Phone’s fucked,” Harry said, “what did you say?”

“I said be careful, be careful with her, please,” Dora was crying, he tasted Her tears on the distant wind. The familiar sting on his tongue ripped at his soul like barbed wire. He needed a drink. He needed to stop the twisting horror and guilt that stirred deep within him. It had been sixteen years. He was supposed to be fine, over it, he had others to hold and care for. Why did it hurt so much? Why was it so  _ quiet _ ? Dora was still speaking and crying: “There is someone that is trying to hurt us. Is she there yet? Harry? Harry?”

“I’m here,” Harry muttered, “I’m here for you. Who is she? And– Dora, are you coming back?” He didn’t mean to ask that. He was scared of the answer, scared of knowing. She sighed and it stabbed through him.

“Yes,” She said. It stabbed through him. He was so afraid, “on another aerostatic, another time. For now just… Just protect her.”

“Why? Dora,  _ why? _ And who have you eve–“ The glass doors slid open on cue. They knew it was time for a horrifying reveal. A young girl, a teenager, stepped out into the dying sunlight. She was tall and thin and blonde and her lungs did not glow. She breathed out a long, frightening sigh and looked around. She clutched a familiar rolling suitcase in one hand and a handful of travel papers in the other. When she turned to make eye contact with you her expression was utterly unreadable. An impossibility stood before Harry: teenage Dora Ingelrilt with her feet on the Revachol street. 

“My daughter, Harry.” Dora sighed, one hundred million billion trillion kilometers away, “please protect my daughter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically the first vignette I wrote for X9's idea, but I thought posting it after the beginning one made sense. Timeline is fucked up, and we are going to ignore it because these tiny things are so imperfect (it's a miracle I'm posting them!).


	5. L’appel du Vide Possibility (Harry/Kim)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> POSSIBLE SPOILERS FOR LATE L’APPEL DU VIDE, MY LONG FORM CASE FIC. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. ALSO. KINDA SPICY.

“Kim I don’t understand.”

“What is there to not understand, officer,” Kim hissed. He stood up and ripped another cigarette from his pocket. The poisonous thing burned just from resting between his lips, but he needed it. He needed to indulge. And he needed to see the look on Harry’s face as he lit up and inhaled the deep, addictive taste of menthol and void. Who knew the second cigarette of the night could taste so sweet. Harry followed after Kim’s frantic pacing and, much to his surprise, ripped the cigarette from his fingers and crushed it. 

“You’ve really been hearing the voices,” Harry said calmly, slowly, and he grabbed Kim’s shoulders tight, “really, truly?” Emotions welled into Kim’s throat, suffocating him. Volition was screaming nonsense at the base of his brainstem, cries of anguish and panic. 

“Ignore them both,” Electrochemistry purred, “you’re handling so good tonight, disco star. Why not indulge some more?” Kim’s eyes fell to Harry’s lips, Harry’s jaw, his ruddy neck. The warmth of his hands infected him. Revachol watched from the bare windows of Kim’s apartment as his gloved fingers rose to Harry’s lapels, clutched tight, and then drew him in. The kiss silenced all of the noise inside of Kim. He was floating, suddenly, in a world where only him and his connection to Harry existed. 

Harry sputtered against his lips at first, surely confused, surely upset, but then his hands tightened on Kim’s shoulders and he was pressing Kim back against the wall. A thigh found itself between his legs. He pressed down on it and licked devilishly into Harry’s mouth, chasing the taste of smoke and radiation.

“Ki--” Harry tried to pull away, but Kim chased after him, pulling hard at his lower lip. He jerked his hips against Harry’s leg and growled. Harry’s hands slipped down, down down down, and Kim couldn’t think, he couldn’t even breathe. He detached himself from the kiss and buried his starlit face into Harry’s neck. “Kim,” Harry whined, head falling back. His hips bucked up, finding friction against Kim’s trousers. 

“Please,” Kim whispered, reverent and fearful, “please don’t, please, I need…” 

“Attention,” Inland Empire said.

“Love,” Empathy said.

“Connection,” Logic said.

“You,” Electrochemistry purred.

“You,” Kim agreed, and he bit down on Harry’s pulse and tasted the electricity within him. His hands curled into Harry’s hair and he tugged hard until Harry complied and revealed even more skin for Kim to devour. Harry, in turn, curled around Kim’s hips and pulled him further down onto him, punching a gasp out of him as his cock yearned for more than just tight friction. All around them was the sound of wind, of pale, endless nothing. Nothing but their breathing and moaning. 

Kim lapped at the bright red mark he left behind and continued down Harry’s neck, pausing only to yank off his hideous tie and begin undoing his shirt buttons. Harry made this all the harder as he focused on trying to press Kim through the wall behind him. He was simply so much. So much of a man, so much of a mystery, so much of a mess, so much of an uncertainty, and Kim inhaled all of him like he was the finest, silkiest drag of a cigarette.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this lil de server im on did 20 minute smut writing so.... here it is. unbeta’d free write


End file.
